


Nothing, something

by WhimsicalEthnographies



Series: Up Came the Sun [31]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Everyone Needs A Hug, Existential Angst, Gen, Irondad, Minor Injuries, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter is doing his best, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Lives, and nobody gets sick, and so is tony, considering everyone is quarantined, nothing specific but you'll get the idea, vague references to our current wordly predicament
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27088441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalEthnographies/pseuds/WhimsicalEthnographies
Summary: Tony meets her eyes when she turns to look at him, and knows Pepper must have noticed Peter’s mood too.  She doesn’t care about the garage, not really and certainly not this afternoon, but she found something to keep them busy that won’t require too much mental and emotional effort.  She’s always been quicker on the uptake than him, and Tony knows she’s right, even if he was willing to indulge Peter--and himself--for the afternoon.  Some day there will be an open world again, but all they can do right now is try to keep busy and push through.  One day at a time, he’d told Peter at the beginning while they fiddled over an old toaster.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Up Came the Sun [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1097577
Comments: 31
Kudos: 120
Collections: Irondad and his Iron kids





	Nothing, something

**Author's Note:**

> Lookit that, I'm back again! 2020, huh?
> 
> This is effectively me trying to get out all the confusion and depression and anxiety of our current situation. Nothing is named explicitly, but it's obvious they're in a similar situation to us now. I'm in a unique position--I live in WNY and do infection control, and have been in the weird limbo of being an essential infection control healthcare worker who still had to go out and living the hell that was our state in the spring and watching things open more and more that DEFINITELY SHOULD NOT BE OPENING and other states absolutely fail to learn anything from what we went through. I'm tired, and sad, and this is what came out of it. But there's still good, and love, even on bad days. And it's okay to have a bad day, and sometimes something can still break up the monotony. 
> 
> So enjoy! And maybe I'll be back again, because phew, 2020 man. Hopefully it'll be more fun! I'm putting this in Up Came the Sun because it's just easier, but this one assumes Endgame happened and Tony lived. It's post-Eggnog. 
> 
> If you don't mind a blog that consists of shitposting, misunderstanding the memes all the kids talk about today, Johnlock conspiracies, and occasional MCU screaming follow me on the tumblr dot com [whimsicalethnographies](http://whimsicalethnographies.tumblr.com/)

Tony exhales hard--as hard as he can--and tries to focus on the mantra Strange had taught him. It was helpful, in the beginning, when all the nerve endings on the right side of his body were constantly screaming at him, and the ones in the rest of his body didn’t want to follow instructions. Now, he mostly uses it to calm his racing mind, which still moves far too fast for his broken body to keep up with. And to help lower his blood pressure and steady his heart rate. According to both Strange and Cho, those are important.

He’s still loathe to admit it helps, magic and sorcery and whatever the fuck. He’d be less loathe to admit it helps if he understood the mechanics, which is eventually the plan. He’s had FRIDAY consistently recording data, and has a few schematics mapped out, stored in the same secure drive as the data on the stones. They have an almost endless list of projects for Peter to work on, but as these Unprecedented Times seem like they might very well go on forever, he’s sure they’ll have time to get to it. They don’t even know when school is starting up again, and Tony will swing all his weight to make sure Peter doesn’t have to go in person. He’ll learn more with Tony anyway.

Right now, though, Tony isn’t meditating-- _ugh_ \--because of his nerves or his blood pressure or his heart rate. Right now, he’s trying to control the pain that keeps running up his back into what’s left of his right shoulder fairly regularly. He knows what it is, and he knows it’s because he definitely hasn’t been sticking to the strict diet the good doctors have had him on for nearly nine months. He promised Pepper he’d tell them if it lasts until the end of August. Fucking useless gallbladders. Iron Man doesn’t need a gallbladder. Iron Man saved the universe.

But the mantra does help, and Tony feels his mind slip into the soft, cottony space that it takes him. Tony doesn’t know what mumbo jumbo Strange did to him while Cho worked her particular magic, but this feeling is similar to what little he can remember of the time before he woke up in a SHIELD medical facility. The difference now is he can hear the voices of his wife and kids in the background. It’s quite pleasant.

Until it’s not. Tony jerks as the screen door *slams* shut. He has repeatedly asked everyone to not slam the screen door, and yet it doesn’t seem to stick in anyone’s brain for more than a few hours. Of course, nobody else has been here for months. Maybe Happy or May will remember when they finally come up next week. They have ten days of quarantine to go.

“Daddy!” A little voice shrieks from somewhere in the house, and Tony sighs. His focus is gone, so even if Pepper keeps the monsters physically out of his office, there’s no point now. He hauls himself out of the chair that has lumbar-and-everything-else support and activates the nano-cane from his right “hand.” 

“Morgan, Daddy’s resting,” he hears Pepper call when he reaches the heavy closed door. “Come help me in here.”

“No, no,” Tony opens the door to find Morgan bouncing from foot to foot. “I want to see everyone’s new haircuts.”

Pepper had taken it upon herself to groom everyone in the house--she used to cut hair in college for extra money--as everyone was sorely in need of it. Tony got his yesterday; his hair didn’t grow for months after he woke up and then once it started again it didn’t stop. He was starting to look like the eccentric, billionaire hermit he’d become. When Peter arrived he’d had close to a buzzcut, and he had been beginning to look like what May called a _philosophy major who grows weed in his mini-fridge._ Even Morgan was looking worse for wear. Only Pepper had the decency to still look put together after over five months of functional house arrest. Tony’s not even sure how.

“Well, don’t you look elegant, Miss Muffin Top,” Tony bends to scoop Morgan up, grunting as he positions her on his hip and leans heavily on his cane. 

“I know!” Morgan squeaks, clinging to his neck. “And my neck isn’t hot anymore!”

“Well, what a relief that must be!” Tony plants a loud kiss on her cheek. Her dark hair is short and sleek, a mini-bob with her overgrown bangs tastefully blended into the sides. “Mommy is an amazing stylist.”

“You need to see Petey,” she giggles into his ear as he clunks down the hall towards the living room. “He’s practically bald!”

“Bald!” Tony exclaims, dropping her on the floor when they reach the living room. “Peter, are you bald?”

“Eh, by the time we get out of here it’ll be all grown out again five times over,” Peter grunts from where he’s sprawled on the couch, running a hand over his new buzzcut and rolling his eyes. “But it’s not like I’m Fury.”

“Thank God for that,” Tony frowns down at his kid. Curt replies from Peter are still jarring, especially when it’s clear he isn’t inviting Tony to engage in a verbal sparring session. He had a feeling today was going to be one of Those Days when Peter was in bed at 8 o’clock last night, and he confirmed it when he found him at 6 o’clock this morning eating chocolate chips and peanut butter out of the jar. 

The isolation has been hard on everyone, but it’s hit Peter harder than the rest of them. Morgan at least has the advantage of spending her life alone with her parents, and Tony has long since learned that so long as he knows his wife and kids are okay, he’s set. Pepper can thrive in almost any environment, and has divided her time between chasing all of them and diverting as many SI resources as she could to the state’s response (even if she consistently does it with a drink in hand and breaks for a Marlboro Light behind the house where the kids can’t see). But Peter’s away from everything he knows, after spending almost a year trying to adjust to a new reality. He misses his aunt and his city and his friends. And being Spider-Man, now that Tony and his lawyers put out that fire. 

Aside from one late-night jailbreak about four weeks in--Tony had laid the guilt on _thick_ during that drive back to the cabin--he’s taken it better than most of them expected. But it’s still rough; some days feel like a strange liminal space where time is meaningless and days run together and Happy Hour starts as soon as they wake up. They remind Tony far too much of the days after half the universe, and his kid, were wiped from existence, and the only thing any of them can bear to do is hunker down and lean into the misery. 

Misery looks like it’s on the menu this afternoon. Tony taps Peter’s legs with his cane, and he pulls them up so he can plop down on the couch next to him. “Got any plans this afternoon?”

“Yeah, loads,” Peter flicks the large television on. “You?”

“Jam-packed. I want to try and finish this season and then squeeze in two naps before dinner.”

Peter snorts. “That sure sounds exhausting.”

“Oh, everything is exhausting right now, Pete,” he reaches out and squeezes Peter’s ankle. “Heard from Michelle today?”

“No,” he lays his head on the arm of the chair as an episode of Top Chef starts up. They’re working their way through the two seasons that aired while Peter was gone. Tom Colicchio had been taken, and Joe Bastianich filled it. He wasn’t a bad replacement, all things considered. “She’s gonna call later tonight.”

“Yeah, well try a bit harder to keep it down this time--”

“Oh my GOD, Tony!” Peter whips his head around to glare at him, his cheeks flushing bright red.

Tony just laughs. “Oh, calm down, Spider-baby,” he pokes Peter in the side with his cane, which is promptly batted away. “We were all there at one point. And I just hear everything now, with this new...thing…” he waves his hand towards his right ear. New ear, new eye, both giving him far more insight into the world around him than he wants right now. Tony has decided that being bodily enhanced isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. On bad nights the cracks in the ceiling are particularly unnerving.

“You know you can turn it off,” Peter snaps, flopping back on the arm of the sofa. “We made it so you can turn it off.”

“Yeah, but if I turn it off how can I make sure you two don’t stop breathing in your sleep?”

“ _You_ should be sleeping,” Peter grouses. 

“I do. Two naps this afternoon, remember?”

“Maybe if you didn’t take naps you’d sleep at night instead of eavesdropping on me.”

“Yeah,” Tony sighs and squeezes Peter’s ankle again. He doesn’t poke anymore; Peter clearly isn’t up for his usual teasing. Check another box for One of Those Days. “But there’s not much else to do, is there?”

“No,” Peter sighs, and rests his chin on the arm of the sofa. Tony can see his shoulders slump in resignation. 

The fact is they do have plenty to do; he pulls up the list on the HUD in his right eye and scans through it. He put it together with May the evening the city locked down. The list runs from the serious (ensure Peter understands the theory behind Tony’s inverted mobius strip) to the practical (teach Peter how to drive a standard transmission) to the more whimsical (learn how to make a perfect paella). They’ve crossed many things off the list, and many more remain, but as Peter sighs again, Tony isn’t sure this is the afternoon for any of them. He knows, deep down, they all feel better when they’re busy, but sometimes he just can’t bear to push.

“S’okay,” Tony wraps his vibranium fingers around Peter’s bare foot. “Sometimes it’s okay to not have anything to do--”

“Oh, I have plenty for you to do,” Pepper interrupts him as she strides into the living room, Morgan hot on her heels and the ever-present glass of rosé in her hand. “And one thing you _really_ need to do before May and Happy get here.”

“Uh oh,” Tony pinches the sole of Peter’s foot and is met with a half-hearted kick. “Guess that’s out.”

“Uh, yes, Tony. You’re cleaning out that monstrosity you call a _garage._ Peter, if you help him, you can keep whatever you find.”

“I do not call it a garage,” Tony states matter-of-factly. “I call it _the storage_ _in front of my workshop._ The garage has the cars. And I need everything in there.”

“Anthony, you explicitly called it a _garage_ when you told May and Happy they could put their cars there last week. And it’s been on your to-do list for _two years_. So organize it. Or I’ll call Bruce to clean it out.”

For some reason _that_ gets a reaction out of Peter--he snickers into his elbow. 

“Why are you laughing?” Tony snaps. “You’re the one who has to help me.”

“Sorry, Tony.” Peter turns to look at him, but does not look sorry. “But it would be pretty funny to watch Dr. Banner clean out all that shi--” Peter catches himself as his eyes dart to Morgan. “--garbage.”

“There’s nothing to clean out, you traitor! And it’s not garbage. I need everything in there.”

“Okay, Grey Gardens. You don’t need the old bar from the Tower,” Pepper sighs and takes a large gulp of her rosé. “But honestly, I don’t care what you do, just so long as there’s space for two cars in there. _With_ the doors open.”

“Are you going to help?” Tony tests his luck. “I can’t get that cleaned out in an afternoon.”

“You can with Peter,” Pepper takes another smaller drink from her glass. “And I am going to help Morgan with her garden, pick some cucumbers for dinner. We’re all doing manor labor today.”

They’d planted a garden specifically for Morgan--flowers for bees and hummingbirds and easy vegetables: tomatoes and cucumbers and a monstrous zucchini plant that absolutely will not stop producing fruit. Both Tony and Pepper knew they needed to give her something akin to what Peter had in Tony’s lab for the summer, and it’s been endlessly entertaining to watch her obsess over the bright yellow garden spiders that have made a home there.

“Love manual labor,” Peter grunts, and starts to push himself up to sitting. 

“Don’t we all, honey,” Pepper smiles sadly, reaching down to gently hold the back of Peter’s head. “But moving around will feel good. I promise.”

Tony meets her eyes when she turns to look at him, and knows Pepper must have noticed Peter’s mood too. She doesn’t care about the garage, not really and certainly not _this_ afternoon, but she found something to keep them busy that won’t require too much mental and emotional effort. She’s always been quicker on the uptake than him, and Tony knows she’s right, even if he was willing to indulge Peter--and himself--for the afternoon. Some day there will be an open world again, but all they can do right now is try to keep busy and push through. _One day at a time_ , he’d told Peter at the beginning while they fiddled over an old toaster. _It’s okay if sometimes you’re not okay. And we’ll figure it out._

“Alright, honey bee,” Pepper hoists Morgan up from the floor, where she was peering at something under the couch. “Let’s get to that garden of yours. Go find your galoshes,” she shoos her away towards the back door. You two,” she points at them as she turns to follow, her voice stern but her eyes smiling. “You have until 4. Get going.”

“Well, you heard the boss,” Tony pokes Peter with his cane and hauls himself to his feet with a grunt. He can’t blame the pain in his knees on too much butter and homemade sourdough. “Up you get.”

“Nnngggghhhh,” Peter groans, and pushes himself to his feet as if it’s the hardest thing in the world. “I don’t want to clean out your dirty garage.”

“Hey, between your strength and agility and my superior brain power, it shouldn’t take us long. And I really do need most of the shit in there. So we’ll just be making it neater.”

“Yeah, that’s still cleaning your garage, Tony,” Peter rolls his eyes. “Mo-mo might fall for that, but you can’t fool me.”

“Yes, you’re very wise,” Tony smacks the back of his head. “Come on. Sooner we start, the sooner it’s over.” He hobbles towards the kitchen to grab some water bottles. “And if you don’t want those clothes to get ruined, change!”

*******

Tony can’t remember the last time he entered this building from the front. The cars they use are in a smaller garage, the ones they don’t, in storage closer to the city. He uses the door in back to get into the workshop; the entire space is reinforced against all sorts of threats, and why go through two security doors instead of just one? But he’d wanted _this_ space for all the things he didn’t want to put in storage but didn’t know what to do with or couldn’t bear to keep in the house. And there are, Tony realizes as he flips the light switch, _a lot_ of things in here. He knows Pepper came in here and dug around before Peter and May went back to the city, while he was still out, but he hasn’t been in here in at least two years.

Ugh,” Tony looks around, Peter peering over his shoulder. “Who let it get this way?” This space is huge--it actually is meant to be a garage--and it’s an absolute disaster. Boxes and bins and random pieces of machinery. 

“You did. Gah!” Peter yelps as a rustling comes from behind a pile of cardboard boxes in front of them. He leaps behind Tony and grabs a handful of his t-shirt. “What the fuck?”

“Smooth, Spider-Man,” Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s probably just a mouse.”

“That sounded bigger than a mouse, Tony!”

“Then maybe it was a rat,” Tony shrugs and taps the box with his cane. There’s no further rustling.

“Oh my God we could get _the plague_ , Tony!”

“Nobody is getting the plague. The plague isn’t in New York State. Probably. And if we do I’ll have Cho send over a couple of courses of streptomycin,” he kicks a box. “We’re much more likely to get Hantavirus.”

“Oh, great. Why don’t we all just go to a dive bar in Brooklyn and take some really deep breaths?”

“Oh, knock it off, spider baby. The sooner we start this the sooner we can be finished and we can go back to doing nothing.”

“Except being miserable,” Peter rolls his eyes, but he smiles just a bit, then looks around the large space. “What is all this shit?”

“Oh, a whole bunch of stuff from all over that I didn’t want to put in actual storage,” Tony starts carefully picking his way through the boxes and cases on the floor, careful not to let his cane snag on anything It’s a mix of cardboard boxes with Sharpie labels and locked SI crates, with some vibranium receptacles scattered in between. Against the far wall is the massive bar from the tower, cracks and all. Honestly, Pepper is right about that one. Propped next to it is the Mark V, still covered in Vanko’s scorch marks.

“It doesn’t look this big from the outside.”

“It’s really not. Only a bit more than 1200 square feet. A little more than double a regular garage. We should be able to make this work--shit!” Tony stumbles a bit over _something_ on the floor, and Peter’s hands are instantly around his arm, pulling him upright before he hits the concrete. “Jesus. Thanks, bud,” Tony reaches up and squeezes his hand.

“Maybe you should stay on this side until I get some stuff out of the way?” Peter reluctantly lets go of his arm as he starts back across the room, shifting boxes out of the way as best he can. 

“Problem is I don’t know what thing is in which box,” Tony stops again when he feels Peter grip the back of his t-shirt. “Pete…”

“I heard another rustling!”

“You mean like this?” Tony pokes another box and turns around to look at him.

“Shut up,” Peter glares at him, but lets go of his shirt. “I don’t want to get eaten by rats.”

“I think between the two of us we’re good, bud. Besides, it’s probably not even rats,” Tony shrugs. “It might be a raccoon. Did you get your rabies shot?”

“You are the _worst._ ”

“Only because you’re so fun to tease, Spider-baby,” Tony flicks the side of his head then turns back to scan the mess. His right eye is able to scan into the cardboard and plastic boxes, but there are several heavy opaque rectangles in the room. “Why didn’t we think to make this eye so it could see behind vibranium?”

“Oh man,” Peter whines, following him over to the heavy work table against the wall. “That’d be so cool!” 

“Well we can add it to the list...we’ll have enough to keep us busy until Christmas. And _how_ is everything on the floor and nothing on the table?”

“Probably because the last time you were in here it didn’t take you two months to bend over?” Peter swiftly hoists a large black SI container off the floor and onto the table. “You can unlock these right?”

“I’m not dignifying that with a response. FRI?” Tony looks up at the ceiling. It’s something both Morgan and Peter do, talking to his AI as if she-- _it_ \--actually lives in the ceiling, and it’s worn off on him. “Release the security on everything in this room.”

_Of course, Boss._

“EDITH can do it too,” Tony looks down at the receptacle Peter put on the table in front of him. He lifts the heavy lid. “Just in case, so--”

“Noted,” Peter cuts him off quickly, leaning against his side to see what’s in the box. It’s a heavy leather strap, dotted with dark metal ore and burnt runes. “What the hell is that?”

“Thor’s belt.”

“Thor has a belt?”

“Yep. Meg-ing-something-or-other,” Tony lifts it, checking to make sure there’s nothing else in the box. “You want it?”

“Um,” Peter lifts an edge, running his thumb over the _uru_ metal rivets. “Wouldn’t Thor want it?”

“Well, then he shouldn’t have left it at my house,” Tony says pointedly, tossing the leather back in. “What do you say we stack the garbage-stuff against that wall--”

“I don’t know that Thor’s belt is garbage, Tony,” Peter frowns at him.

“Well I don’t want it and you don’t want it, so for all intents and purposes, right now it’s garbage,” Tony pulls a stool out from under the table and sits. “Haul this over there, then grab me another box and pick one for yourself. Mom said we have until four.”

Peter grunts but closes the lid and grabs the box, deftly hopping between piles and across the room to set it against eastern wall. “I’m gonna do the boxes that’ll clear a path, okay?”

“You lift, you decide, kiddo,” Tony sets his cane on the table and waves his hand. “Have at it.”

“Okay, you take this one,” Peter hoists a plastic tub onto the table. “And I’ll do that one,” he points to a reinforced box closer to the Garbage Wall.

“Of course you give me a boring one,” Tony rolls his eyes, but pulls the plastic lid off the container.

“I lift, I decide!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony stands up a bit to look into the box, leaning heavily on the tabletop. It’s filled with Morgan’s baby clothes, tiny onesies and caps and booties. He feels a rush of emotion, bittersweetness for the time when he got his second chance. He glances over at Peter and forces himself not to think about how eventually the universe will stop giving him chances. He’s on at least his fourth now. “Okay, we need a new wall: a wall where Pepper decides what to do with it.”

“What is it?”

“Baby clothes. I’m sure she’ll have some thoughts,” Tony digs through the box, carefully looking through the delicate knits and embroidered cotton. “I thought these were all in the attic…” Tony looks around the garage for similar-looking boxes, wondering what else Pepper moved here when Tony was out. He wouldn’t be surprised to find more of Morgan’s things; Tony was always good at going overboard, even more so when trying to fill the hole still left in his chest. 

“Oh my god, you still have this?” Peter calls from where he’s bent over the heavy, reinforced case, interrupting Tony’s train of thought.

“What, jelly bean?” Tony’s brain barely misses a beat now when he mixes up Peter’s nicknames with Morgan’s nicknames. It hardly matters anyway, and Peter’s done his fair share of mindlessly responding to the likes of _ladybug_ and _sweet pea_. Shit, one time Tony even forgot their _actual_ names. He swivels on the stool. “Whatchu got, Pete?”

“This,” Peter trudges across the garage. “You still have this?” He holds out a heavy clunky webshooter, one of his first two, that he knocked together with old VCR parts and perfume sample bottles he dug out of dumpsters in Queens.

“Pete, I had all your stuff,” Tony is taken aback for a minute, but takes the webshooter from him. He did, he kept all of it in a storage unit just outside the city. Just in case. 

“Yeah, but like in that unit,” Peter hovers close to him, watching as he turns the webshooter over in his hands. Even now, Tony can’t get over how ingenious the device is, and that a fourteen-year-old made it in his bedroom.

“Not everything was in that unit,” Tony hands the webshooter back to him. He tries to school his voice; he was not prepared to dive into _this_ territory. “Your physics textbook, all your action figures...that dumb pillow.”

“That dumb pillow you kept with Morgan’s dumb pillow in the hospital room?”

“We needed something to support my side, that it could bleed and weep all over.” 

“Uh huh.”

Tony sighs, and grabs the webshooter back. Its partner is high on the bookshelf in the living room, although obviously Peter hasn’t noticed it yet. 

In the first few months _after_ , when Tony had been crazy and desperate with grief, before they knew Pepper was pregnant, he’d obsessively taken the webshooters apart and put them back together again, as if doing so would be the jolt he needed to figure everything out. After Morgan was born, he still did it, late at night when he was up, even if he tried to focus on his new daughter. They haven’t really talked about it, not as much as Tony would like to someday, how even after they’d had Morgan and he’d told himself he had to move on, that there was still a tiny, desperate hope in the back of his head that someday his kid would need everything again. How that tiny hope had itched and screamed even while he was telling Scott _no_ , how the hole in his chest expanded and ached like it was brand new even before he’d caught a glimpse of Peter’s photograph. 

And the fact is, there were some things he couldn’t bear to leave behind, just like he couldn’t bear to put some things in the storage units near the city. None of the protocols changed, EDITH was still in place, waiting to be handed over. Hell, Peter was still in his will. Pepper had never argued with him, just smiled sadly and held him close if the subject ever came up. Somewhere Pepper had known too.

“Some things,” Tony sniffs, and Peter leans in closer against his shoulder. “Some things I wanted to keep here. With me.” He pulls up the schematics on his HUD, blows apart the mechanics. “The other one is on the bookshelf in the living room.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, bud,” Tony blinks rapidly and holds up the device. It’s still hard to think about that time, even with the kid standing right next to him, helping him clean out the hoard that probably includes more of Peter’s old things than he realizes. “I took them apart a few times, maybe you can check to see if I got it right when I put them back together.”

Peter snorts, tactfully not asking him why on earth he’d do that, but he takes the webshooter back “I’m sure you did. But even if not, it’s not like I’d ever use them again.”

“Hey, you never know,” Tony turns to look up at him, watches as he eyes the webshooter incredulously. “Seriously, Pete. Trust I know from experience.”

“You really think we could get them working again?” 

“You got them working to begin with, bud.”

Peter turns the webshooter over and over in his hands, his brows knit together. Tony can see the start of a spark, something churning in his head, and he’s incredibly grateful Pepper sent them out here, even if it meant he had to unexpectedly spend time thinking about a time he’d rather not.

“We could look tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Tony reaches up to squeeze his shoulder. “Don’t have anything else to do...unless Pep conjures up more chores for us.”

“Or we don’t finish this today.”

“Eh, we’ll get done when we get done. Both your aunt and Happy can keep their cars outside for a bit if this takes longer than ten days.”

“Yeah,” Peter sets the webshooter on the table. “They don’t run on power, it’s all spring-loaded.”

“I know.”

“And like,” he bunches his hands on his hips. “All you guys run on some kind of power source...Mr. Wilson, and Mr. Barnes’s arm...I think even Dr. Strange would be thrown for a while?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tony nods, watching the gears turn in Peter’s head. It’s always so incredible to watch, this kid who would have run circles around him when he was the same age. “I mean, if the power ever goes, I’m shit out of luck.”

“You’re self powered, Tony!” Peter huffs a small laugh, rolling his eyes. “This entire place is!”

“Well…what if there was a--like--a--” Tony flinches inwardly as his brain skips. He frowns up at Peter. It still happens, sometimes. “You know, a thing…”

“Like an electromagnetic pulse?” Peter nonchalantly fills in without missing a beat, and Tony is grateful. He always is; Pepper may be his better half, and Morgan might be his blood, but nobody knows his brain like Peter does. Tony would have probably gone mad if Peter hadn’t been there those first months after he woke up, to fill in the gaps and occasionally act as his literal right hand until he was more capable.

“Exactly, kiddo. One of us should be able to hold his own, and Cap would break both his hips.”

“You probably would too.”

“And maybe have a stroke. I’m not denying it,” he squeezes Peter’s forearm. “Put that thing aside so we don’t lose it.”

“Okay,” Peter chirps, setting the webshooter next to the box of Morgan’s clothes.

“What else was in there?”

“Just some padding and like, little watch tools,” Peter shrugs, still looking at his webshooter.

“Well, then why don’t you put that near the door then, so we can bring it back to the house when we’re freed from here. Grab another one on your way back.

“‘K,” Peter grabs the webshooter back, and makes his way over to the storage box. He drops it back in, and again deftly skips across the room to set it by the door. “Hey, what’s in those?”

“Gotta be more specific, Pete?”

“Those?” he points to two heavy, doubly reinforced boxes on a shelf near the ceiling. 

“Those,” Tony sits up straight on the stool, his back cracking. “Are the time watches.”

“You keep those in your _garage_?” Peter looks at him as if he just grew a second head. 

“It’s not a _garage,_ smart guy. And it’s probably safer than anywhere else in the world.”

“It’s a garage, Tony,” Peter rolls his eyes and looks back up at the boxes. “And like, what if someone came here to steal them?”

“Well, they’d be shit out of luck, because only one of three handprints can open the box--”

“They could cut off your hand, Tony.”

“--and they don’t work without the ‘Pym Particles,’” Tony rolls his eyes. He can be eternally grateful to Pym’s technology and still hate the man’s guts. “ _And_ the accelerator isn’t here. Well, part of it isn’t here. Bruce has half of it.”

“Where’s the half here?” Peter is still looking at the heavy black boxes.

“In the basement behind the water heater.”

“You know, this still seems like shoddy security.”

“Only three handprints, Spider-baby,” Tony wiggles his fingers. “Me, Bruce, and you.”

“I can open it?” Peter jumps a little bit, and Tony can’t help but laugh a little. He’s still always shocked--even after receiving EDITH--that he has complete access to everything Tony does.

“Peter, you can open everything, I’ve told you this! In fact, you can override both me and Bruce. Just in case.”

“I know,” Peter ducks his head. “But sometimes I forget.”

“Well, please stop forgetting, kiddo. You may need to remember someday,” Tony assures him, smiling softy. This kid. “In fact, why don’t we get a ladder and get those down. Showing you this shit is on The List. We can start tomorrow after we take a look at your webshooters. Shouldn’t take long?”

“It shouldn’t take long?” Peter laughs and rolls his eyes. “We can learn time travel after dinner?”

“Yup. It’s actually surprisingly simple, especially considering it’s not really time travel,” Tony grabs his cane off the table. “I think there’s a ladder in the real garage we can grab--”

“Tony, I don’t need a ladder,” Peter rolls his eyes again, and hops onto the wall next to the lowest shelf. “I think Spider-Man’s got this.”

“I dunno, Pete, those boxes are heavy…” He will never not hate watching the kid climb, and he doesn’t have any working webshooters here.

“And I can throw a car,” Peter crawls up a bit. “Will they break if they fall?”

“No, but you might.”

“I will not, Tony.”

“Peter, _be careful_ ,” Tony demands in his best Dad Voice, and stands up from his stool, making his way around to the other side of the table. “And if you get stuck, I’m gonna leave you up there.”

“Oh my god, I’m not gonna get stuck. I haven’t gotten stuck on anything since I was first bit.”

“Well, with the way this year is going, I’m sure it’s on the docket--” he watches Peter climb higher “--no, don’t go higher. Why are you going higher?”

“So I can reach the boxes, Tony! It’s fine.” Peter let’s himself adhere to the wall with one foot, and steps over to the lower, empty shelf. “It’s like 6 feet.”

“Which is more than enough to snap your neck,” Tony grips the edge of the table hard. “You need me to grab one of those?”

“No, I got it,” Peter inches closer to the boxes, hopping his one foot along the concrete wall so he has more leverage. He tests his weight on the lower shelf, then leans on that leg. “It’s not gonna, like, explode, right?”

“No…” Tony grits his teeth as Peter reaches up with both hands and grabs one of the boxes to pull off the top shelf. “But you should still--”

There’s a loud *crack* and before he can even consciously think about it, Tony is shoving himself off the table towards Peter as the lower shelf gives under Peter’s weight. Peter yelps and drops the vibranium case with a bang, and Tony manages two whole leaping steps before his good leg catches on a box on the floor. He watches Peter deftly land next to the case as he tumbles, unable to catch himself on his right leg without his cane, and there’s a second loud crack as his knee hits the concrete floor.

“ _FUCK!_ ”

“Jesus, _Tony!”_ Peter darts over and grabs his upper arm. “What were you doing?!”

“Owww…”

“Were you gonna try to _catch_ me?!”

“Pete,” Tony grunts, and lets Peter pull him up so he’s sitting. The knee of his jeans is torn, and already dotted with blood.

“What were you thinking?! It’s like, five feet!” Peter doesn’t give him a chance to answer before he’s dragging him across the floor on his ass to the wall.

“I was thinking my kid just had a shelf collapse under him!” Tony snaps as Peter deposits him against the wall.

“I’ve fallen off buildings! I got hit by a bullet train once!” Peter’s voice is getting progressively more shrill, and when Tony looks up he sees that his face is bright red and he’s breathing _hard_. He looks furious. 

“Peter, it’s just my knee…” Tony leans over to pull the hole in his jeans open so he can get a better look. Sure enough, there’s a deep split in the skin over his kneecap, and it’s already starting to swell. He pokes at it with two fingers and winces. Super.

“I’m getting Pepper--”

“No,” Tony grits his teeth and tries to straighten his leg. He can well enough, and it hurts, but not so much that he can’t bend it back up again. Full range of motion, or at least full for him, which isn't much to begin with. “It’s just a bump…at least it’s not my good leg?” Tony tries to joke, and really, at least it’s _not_ his good leg, but when he looks back up at Peter he still looks like he’s going to have a stroke. Tony can probably count on one hand how many times he’s seen Peter actually angry.

“Why did you do that?! You can’t do things like that anymore!”

“Peter, it’s fine! We’ll ice it when we get back into the house,” Tony continues to flex his knee; aside from some stiffness--probably the swelling--it really doesn’t feel like there’s any structural damage. 

“You’re bleeding!”

“Yeah, ‘cause I cracked my knee on some concrete. It happens,” Tony shrugs. “I’m allowed to bleed sometimes.”

“ _No_ , you _aren’t!”_ Peter actually yells, his voice cracking as he starts to pace. “You aren’t allowed!”

“Pete, I tripped. It’s gonna happen with a bum leg. And, I can show you how to do your own stitches! Cross another thing off that list!” Tony tries to joke again, to calm down what appears to be an increasingly distressed Peter. He sees a tear slip down his cheek and his chest caves in a little. He hates watching his kids cry.

“It’s not funny!”

“Peter, it’s a little funny,” Tony says, then holds out his hand. “Come on, bud. What’s all this?”

“You can’t do things like this anymore!” Peter stops pacing and furiously scrubs at both his cheeks. “You can’t just--I-I was fine, and you just jumped, and--”

 _Ah._ “Pete,” Tony says softly, and wiggles his fingers. “C’mere.”

“No.”

“Peter,” Tony says a little more firmly, but still tries to keep his voice gentle. “Come here and sit with me until we both calm down.”

“I don’t need to-to calm down,” Peter hiccups, and scrubs a hand over his head. Tony knows if he still had hair he’d be pulling on it.

“I think you do, Pete,” he wiggles his fingers again. “Come on, honey. Sit down. Take a deep breath.”

“I don’t need to take a deep breath,” Peter mutters, but he stumbles over to where Tony is sitting and slides down the wall.

“I think you do,” Tony lays a hand on his shoulder; he’s shaking slightly. “What is this? Why are you panicking?”

“I’m not panicking…” Peter mumbles, and wipes his face again, taking a shaky breath.

“You kind of are,” Tony rubs his shoulder. “I tripped and bumped my knee and you’re on your way to a breakdown.”

“Because you did something _stupid_.”

“Only because you did something stupid after I asked you to stop--yeah, don’t give me that look, it’s your standard pattern of behavior,” he squeezes the back of Peter’s neck. “But you’re okay and I’m okay, so what is this?”

“You might not be okay,” Peter sniffs, squeezing his hands between his knees. 

“Pete, I am…”

“But you might not be!” Peter’s head snaps up. “What if you hit your head--”

“Well, to be fair, half of it’s metal now…”

“--and you had to go to the hospital? You can’t leave! Or if someone had to come here?!” Peter waves his hand out. “People can’t come here! And you can’t go out there!”

“Pete…”

“You’ll die!”

“Peter.”

“We’d all be fine, and May and Happy, but you--you _can’t_. You can’t do this anymore!” Peter slumps and buries his face in his knees. “You can’t just jump to save me anymore…especially not now.”

“Okay, Peter, first of all, push that out of your head. Right this minute,” Tony leans closer to him. “Look at me, bud, and hear this.”

Peter lifts his head and sniffs. His eyes are already red and swollen, his cheeks streaked with tears. Tony hasn’t seen him cry like this since Pepper brought him to his room at the SHIELD facility, two days after he’d woken up.

“I will always, _always_ , jump to save you. You, and Morgan, and Pepper, no matter what is happening out _there_ ,” he points towards the door to emphasize his point. “That’s my job, Pete. And I appreciate it, I really do, kid, but it’s not your job to worry about me.”

“I’m always going to worry about you,” Peter sniffles. “Especially now.”

“I know, and someday I’ll really need it,” he tugs on Peter’s ear. “But I still got some gas in the tank right now.”

“Like, two notches above ‘E,’” Peter snorts.

“Which is more than enough to save you, if I get creative about it.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Peter crackles his thumb. “You did enough and it almost killed you.”

“And I’d do it again,” Tony wraps his vibranium arm around Peter’s shoulder. “And again and again and again, for you three, and if only to live up to your misplaced faith in me.”

“‘Misplaced,’” Peter huffs an unamused laugh. “Pretty sure us sitting here is proof it’s not exactly misplaced.” He leans into Tony’s embrace a bit. “But you still shouldn’t.”

“Non-negotiable, Spider-baby.”

“Okay, how about, while we’re stuck here, you don’t?” Peter looks at him. “Like, unless I really, really need it, which I won’t because we’re stuck _here_.”

“No promises,” Tony side-eyes him. “But while we’re stuck here, I’ll try to try. If only because you’re insufferable right now and none of us have any emotional bandwidth to spare.”

Peter thinks for a moment, his eyebrows creasing, then nods like he knows this is as good as he’s going to get. “Okay. And we’re gonna be stuck here forever, so I win.”

“We’re not gonna be stuck here forever, Pete,” Tony laughs, and jostles his shoulder a bit. His knee is already starting to hurt less; in fact, it’s more the cut than his actual knee. “At least we better not be. I really miss fresh, hot fries.”

“You’re not supposed to eat those anyway Tony!” Peter laughs, a little wetly, but it’s real. “And also crispy pizza crust!”

“And like, good seafood. Pep’s a good cook, and your paella was good, but it’s just not the same.”

“I. Know.” Peter says, a little too seriously, but he doesn’t look so sullen or panicky so Tony will take it. “Like, this _sucks_.”

“I know. It really does. But it’ll be over someday. And your aunt will be here next week, and we’ll all do as much as we can to make this easier for you. And if we’re being idiots and don’t notice, _tell us_. We’ll figure it out. Always.”

Peter sighs. “Thanks, Tony. Really.”

“For which thing?”

“All of it. But really for trying to keep me busy, today,” Peter shifts and tucks himself tighter under Tony’s arm. “I know it sucks for you, too. And I know you don’t like to talk about…” Peter picks at something on this jeans. “...stuff.”

“All a part of the job, kiddo,” Tony frowns at his knee. “Making sure you don’t faceplant--unless it’s funny, and not into concrete, of course--keeping you busy during a world-wide plague, talking about shit nobody wants to talk about…” he pats Peter’s shoulder. “But to be honest, this was all Pep. I noticed, but I was gonna let you moulder on the couch all day. And I honestly didn’t expect to come across important shit.”

Peter snorts and lays his head on Tony’s shoulder. Tony cherishes it; when he first woke up, Peter was so hesitant, his fear of Tony’s fragility _and_ inadvertently overstepping any (non-existent, as far as he’s concerned) boundaries in his new life making him overthink everything.

“You got a tetanus booster, right?”

“Jesus, you sound like your aunt. Or my wife.”

“Tony.”

Tony sighs. “Relax, kiddo. I got an everything-booster last October. Couldn’t lift my arm for a week.”

“You couldn’t lift your arm anyway until, like, November,” Peter grabs Tony’s vibranium wrist and lifts his arm up as if to make a point, then pulls it back around his shoulders.

“You got me there. And I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.”

“I know,” Peter nods seriously, the little shit, then lifts his head off Tony’s shoulder. “I guess this is something exciting.” 

“I don’t know if it’s ‘exciting,’” Tony corrects. “But taking care of it will kill a few hours!”

“Three hours down, forty-three thousand eight-hundred to go.”

“It’s not gonna last five years, Peter. Cho and SI are on it. And if the world thinks I’m not gonna be corrupt and pull strings for you and Morgan to be first in line for shots, they got another thing coming.”

Peter makes a face. “If it does take five years, can I have your convertible?”

“Sure,” Tony shrugs. “You can’t drive it anywhere anyway, so why not?”

“Are you two working?!” A shrill little voice calls from across the room, interrupting their sparring, which is evidence enough for Tony that Peter is, overall, feeling better than he was. 

“We’re taking a break, love bug,” Tony replies, and squeezes Peter’s shoulder. “Can you go get mommy for me?”

“ _Mommy!”_ Morgan shrieks and runs back out the door.

“She shouldn’t be in here,” he tells Peter, who snorts and nods. 

“ _You_ clearly shouldn’t be in here either.”

“Yeah, yeah, smart guy. Just keep your fingers crossed I’ll be able to help you tomorrow, instead of just delegating,” Tony unwraps his arm from Peter’s shoulders and leans over to look at his knee again. “I think the bleeding has stopped?”

Peter leans forward to look. “Yeah, but it looks like it might open again when you try walking...do you think you can walk?”

“Yeah,” Tony flexes his knee again, then plants his foot against the floor and pushes. His right leg doesn’t have much strength in it to begin with, but nothing feels any worse than usual, and his knee doesn’t pop or buckle with the pressure. “Should be okay...”

“Okay, why do you need me, Tony?” Pepper comes into the garage, and picks her way through the boxes. “You’d better not be trying to get out of this--oh Jesus Christ, Tony,” Pepper stops in front of them and bunches both her hands on her hips. “What did you do?!”

“He--” Peter starts but Tony quickly pinches him in the side. “He tripped and banged his knee.”

“Oh,” Pepper's expression softens and she drops her hands. She looks at Peter. “And what happened to you, honey? Were you crying?”

“A bug flew in his eye,” Tony shrugs, keeping his vibranium fingers dug into Peter’s ribs, the message clear: _be quiet_. “He panicked, I panicked, and,” he waves his arm at his knee. “Yeah.”

“It was really big,” Peter nods along.

“You know, you two,” Pepper rolls her eyes, but she laughs slightly. “It’s like I have three five-year-olds.”

“Heh heh, yeah,” Peter bats Tony’s hand away. “But we got it out!”

“And cracked my knee in the process!”

“Okay,” she sighs and comes over and crouches down to look in Peter’s eyes. “Which one, sweetheart?”

“Um, right,” Peter stammers, and Tony inwardly flinches. The kid is still the absolute _worst_ liar in history. 

“Well, maybe we should do a video call with Bruce,” she tilts his head back and gently lifts his right eyelid. “Make sure you didn’t scratch your cornea?”

“I think it’s fine, Pepper. And it’ll heal, anyway.”

“That’s true. Lucky boy,” she smiles and rubs a hand over Peter’s shorn hair. She shifts her attention to Tony’s knee. “But you won’t, Tony.”

“Eh, it’s fine,” he shrugs as Pepper gently pulls apart the hole in his jeans. “This leg’s pretty worthless anyway.”

“You can bend it?” she proceeds to hold his ankle and slowly bend his knee.

“Yep, just stiff, probably from the swelling,” Tony shrugs, and bends it himself while she’s still holding it. “Might stitch it up, show Peter how to do it.”

“Alright,” she sighs, and touches his scarred cheek gently. “Get in the house, we’ll take a look at it. But you’re still on the hook for this if you can walk tomorrow.”

“Yes, dear.”

Pepper sighs again and pushes herself to her feet. “Go slow. Peter, make sure he doesn’t injure himself again. I’m about to make Mo a smoothie, I’ll make some for you, too.”

“Make ours with your rosé, please.”

“Tony,” she scolds, but looks down at Peter and winks. “Don’t tell your aunt. And,” she looks back at Tony. “I don’t want to hear it if your gallbladder flares up.”

“I know.”

“I know,” Peter says simultaneously and smiles, and they watch her as she makes her way back through the obstacle course. “You are the _worst_ ,” he says when she’s out the door, turning to glare at him.

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, shifting a bit. The concrete is starting to hurt his ass. “You good? We can take care of this and go back to mouldering on the couch with our grown-up smoothies.”

“Yeah,” Peter sniffs and rolls onto his feet in one smooth move. It hurts Tony’s back to watch. 

“Okay, get my cane, and help me up.”

Peter hops over to where Tony’s cane clattered to the floor, and is back in an instant. He bends to grab him under his arms and swiftly, but gently, hoists him to his feet. “Be careful.”

“I got it, Spider-baby,” Tony grabs his cane and tests his weight on his right leg. “Feels normal, like garbage.”

“I’m not letting go of you.”

Tony hears the double-meaning in his words. “I know, kiddo,” he presses a quick kiss against the side of his head. “Same here.”

“I know,” Peter starts to slowly lead him across the garage with his arm around his waist, kicking boxes out of the way haphazardly. Tony could move a little faster, honestly, but he doesn’t push. “And you know, it’s gonna suck when May gets here and I don’t get anymore wine smoothies.”

“Oh, I think you’d be surprised,” Tony chuckles, and slows to a stop when they get to the door. Peter stops with him and looks back. “Grab that,” he nods to the box with Peter’s webshooter in it. “We can try to be productive while we moulder.”

“Okay,” Peter smiles, a real smile, and bends to grab the case’s handle, arm still around Tony’s waist. “And I think I have stuff to make the fluid in my room.”

“Don’t tell Pepper you keep that shit in the house.”

“I won’t…” he laughs a little as they head up the path to the cabin. “You know, we still got nothing done today, and I’m kind of glad about it.”

“Nah,” Tony squeezes his side. “I’m gonna show you how to properly clean and stitch your own wound, remember? That’s something.”

“Don’t tell May that’s on your list.”

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, um, some closing thoughts from a professional about our current viral issue:
> 
> 1) wear a fucking mask. OVER YOUR NOSE.  
> 2) 6 feet is not a magical barrier; this shit isn't like measles or TB, but airborne spread is possible in certain situations, like if lots of people are aersolizing, or lots of people are sedentary indoors for a significant amount of time  
> 3) do not spend time indoors where people have their masks off. Restaurants are a risk. Movie theaters where people can remove their masks to eat are a risk. Outside, outside, outside!  
> 4) your sanitizer has to have at least 60% alcohol. And if soap and water are available, that's the best. But alochol-based sanitizer will do the trick if necessary.  
> 5) start stocking up on paper products. It's gonna get really, really dark again in a few weeks. It's not great now, but imagine the worst week in April. It's coming.  
> 6) it's actually fairly easy to kill as a lipid-enveloped virus. Soap, obviously (just regular soap!), but you can also make an easy bleach solution (1-to-10) that works. Bleach is still mostly in stock.  
> 7) be kind to yourselves  
> 8) do not brush off healthcare workers. We're really struggling, and we're really trying to plug all the holes we can, inside and outside of work.  
> 9) WEAR A FUCKING MASK  
> 10) tip as best as your can  
> 11) be kind to essential workers when we shut down again  
> 12) for the love of god do not go to a fucking bar  
> 13) Watch Totally Under Control, the new documentary by Alex Gibney. Be prepared to be really mad.  
> 14) VOTE for fucking Joe Biden. This is not up for debate, PERIOD. We were left to die, literally, and if you don't see what we need to do right now so we can all live, you're an objectively bad person and if hell is real you're going there. We only have two functional options and only one of them is the objectively, morally correct one.  
> 15) Good luck to teachers and other workers in schools. Yikes.  
> 16) WEAR YOUR FUCKING MASK OVER YOUR MOUTH AND NOSE.
> 
> Stay safe and healthy, everyone. We'll get to the other side, eventually. If you're interested in other zoonosis events, Spillover by David Quammen is a good read.


End file.
